


To Be Thy Shepherd

by raktajinos



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Character Study, Female Characters, Freedom, Gen, Implied Torture, POV Female Character, Prose Poem, Survivor Guilt, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 12:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raktajinos/pseuds/raktajinos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of character-study driven vignettes about Kira's time in the Shakaar. A bit dark, so keep that in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Schadenfreude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [athersgeo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/athersgeo/gifts).



> I really enjoyed writing this, so I hope you enjoy reading this. My initial plan was to write something long and plotty, but I kept coming back to this. One of my favourite things about Kira is that she's so rooted in her emotions and I love how fierce she is...and I think that plays to a lot of character study. So here we are. 
> 
> I also have a few other stories written for you as part of your yuletide gift, but I didn't want to link them with this as they are very different...so I will post them as treats...if I figure out how to do that. Might be after yuletide, but more are coming :)

She felt sick. 

The evidence of what she had just done lay on the stone floor in front of her, blood pooling around her feet. 

She stood there, unable to move, unable to _not_ look at the evidence of the monster she had become. 

He deserved it.  
He had it coming to him.  
She didn’t enjoy it. 

Things she kept repeating to herself over and over, trying to ignore the little voice in the back of her mind that disagreed; trying to ignore the gut-wrenching hatred that was pooling in her stomach, threatening to come out. 

He did deserve it, she was sure of that.  
And all Cardassians had it coming to them.

She’d been on a recon mission into the foothills surrounding a military base when she’d come across him – hiding in a cave. 

He claimed he was a dissenter, a prisoner of war. A Bajoran sympathizer. 

She didn’t believe him; they were trained to say such things. He was covered in old scars – a sign of a well-experienced military officer. Battle wounds. Marks of pride and authority. 

At least that’s what she told herself, trying to ignore the possibility that they could also be the remnants of years of torture. 

Maybe she wasn’t sure. Not right now. But in the moment, the moment where she raised her blade and struck – she was sure. 

But now.  
His back had been turned.  
And still she sliced her dagger across his throat, pressing hard. 

The blood was beginning to dry on her hands. 

She didn’t enjoy it…except that she did. 

She enjoyed seeing the surprise that lit his face, that a small Bajoran woman could get the jump on him brought a thrill to her heart. She enjoyed watching the life leave his eyes as he bled to death on the floor in front of her, and the satisfying sense of vindication that followed. 

She shuddered, the last of the adrenaline pushing through her system. The high she felt going away. She wiped her blade on her pants, the Cardassian’s blood mixing in with the dirt and grime that had accumulated there. 

Why shouldn’t she enjoy it. He’d probably caused countless people their lives, causing so much suffering for their families. What was one life to the many he had taken. 

The Cardassians took pleasure in the pain they could inflict, revelling in watching Bajorans suffer and bleed and cry. 

She might have enjoyed this kill. She might enjoy the hunt. But she was _not_ like them. She could never be _like them_. 

At least that’s what she tried to tell herself.


	2. Anxiety

Kira looked around at her people, her friends; hiding out in a cave like bandits. They were a remarkable group; full of passion and conviction. They knew what they were doing was right, was justified, was necessary. All of them were willing to put their lives on the line for a possibility of seeing a Bajor free from oppression. All of them knew their lives were a small price to pay for that hope. 

And it was hope that kept them going; a mix of hope and righteous anger. Sometimes the anger threatened to overwhelm them, individually and as a group. Kira had a lot of anger and a short fuse that could let that anger explode at any moment. 

But she’d seen members of the resistance who were so consumed with their anger and their grief that they were merely looking to do the most damage they could before they got themselves killed. 

After so many years in the resistance, the look was easy to identify. Most Bajorans had a haunted, pained look on their faces – a result of not knowing anything but enslavement and watching their family and friends suffer and die around them. 

There were those, like herself, who somehow managed to get a grip on their anger and turn it into something productive; working hard not to let it be the only thing she felt. Recognizing it for what it was and letting it fuel her, but not letting it control her. 

But others were not so successful; many falling to the consuming nature of grief and sorrow; anger burning brightly and out of control until it consumed them. 

Kira could hardly blame them, a person had only so much tolerance for pain before it destroyed them… and many times she was almost envious of them. Their suffering was over shortly and they took as many of the goddamn Cardassians with them as they went. Kira was lucky in many respects that she didn’t have a large family, or much family at all. The less people you loved, the less pain you would experience when they were taken or tortured or killed. A cold detached approach to life was what kept you alive.

It wasn’t a way for a people to live, to thrive. Kira sometimes wondered if there was anything to Bajor worth saving anymore. After so many generations of people enslaved, there was no one left who could remember what life used to be, who they were. 

When this occupation was over, and Kira had every belief that it would be – maybe not within her lifetime, but it _would_ end – how would her people recover. Those who managed to survive would be like her, broken and damaged; emotions shut off from the world. There would be a world full of people who had not known true happiness or joy and instead it would be a world full of scarred shadow people who knew nothing of civility. 

Hatred towards the Cardassians for what they had done to Bajor was a given, but Kira sometimes experienced a hatred towards her own people. They were fighting back, but what was the cost. Freedom fighters and civilians who were not people, too damaged to be people – but fighting none the less. 

Most knew the fight was not for the present, for the people living now, but for the future generations. A dream that her children, if she chose to have any, would be able to grow up on a free Bajor. Free from war and strife and not have to pick up a weapon and kill someone. Children now were taught how to kill before they were ten years old; it wasn’t a pleasant thought, but it was a necessity. How could anyone possibly grow up normal while they are being taught that alongside math and spelling. 

There was just so much damage. 

How many generations would it take to undo the damage done to their identity? Who would be responsible for carving out a new identity for the people of Bajor – what would that identity be? 

And how at all was a generation who’d done nothing except live in the trenches supposed to teach their children about kindness and love and trust. Was it even possible to teach something you had no experience with? 

It was something the historians and philosophers would be left with she supposed, these questions about who they were. It was a luxury of living in a war, not having to think about how what you are doing is destroying your soul – that was an emotional response saved for after the war. Guilt and anxiety was something that would get you killed now.


	3. Empathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some scenes of violence against a child (but its really really light, more mentioned in passing)

Over the years Kira had become very good at closing her emotions off when it came to the Cardassians. She never felt guilt or pain or empathy at what the rebellion did to them and she didn’t care how far some of her compatriots went in the pursuit of freedom or justice. 

_They_ enslaved her people; they degraded a race so severely they felt like vermin, destroying every ounce of self worth and respect left on Bajor. In Kira’s mind, they reaped what they sowed. 

After decades of occupation and torture, the Bajorans knew a little something about torture and it was fair play if the Resistance employed some of the honed tactics they’d been at the receiving end of. 

She never felt anything when one of their Cardassian prisoners would scream out from the pain, his soulless resolve finally breaking. There would be a ripple of perverse joy that would spread throughout the camp; the knowledge that another drop in the bucket had been cast; another drop towards balancing the scales of the war. 

But she had a line. She’d never been forced to find exactly where that line was … until today. 

They Resistance had brought in a batch of Cardassian prisoners. They’d been travelling along the back roads that were not usually monitored by the Cardassian high command; roads and paths the Resistance used frequently. 

By all appearances, they were a group of refugees, of settlers moving across the land. For what purposes was unclear….and that was the reasoning for bringing them back to the camp. 

Blindfolded and tethered together, they were shepherded like a herd of quatar to the holding cells. They’d be interrogated individually throughout the night until they learned everything they wanted. If she didn’t hate them so much, she’d feel bad for them. 

Kira headed back to the cells, intent on helping with the interrogation. She enjoyed interrogating prisoners and she’d gotten a bit of a reputation for how good she was at it. 

A loud scream echoed through the hallway, followed by sobbing. Alarms rang off in Kira’s mind. There were certain sounds and responses that filled this area of the base….those were not them. 

She ran to the source of the cries and pushed herself into the room, horror on her face, as she comprehended what she saw. 

“Stop!” she yelled out, pushing the Lieutenant out of the way

“Captain, the prisoner may have information” he responded. 

“No. We do not interrogate children,” she said firmly 

She turned around to the young girl in the middle of the room, her face red from where she’d been hit and tears streaming down her face. She couldn’t have been older than eight. Across the room was a little boy huddled in the corner, probably the girl’s little brother. 

This was it. This was Kira’s line. She didn’t think her people would ever resort to this. Children. She was perfectly comfortable torturing adults for days on end, but they had to have a line somewhere. A line they could draw in the sand that said ‘this is the difference between us and you’. Cardassians may murder their children, but they would not. They must not. 

Kira knelt down in front of the little girl, “Hi, my name is Nerys. What’s yours?”

The little girl looked up from the floor and around at all the other people in the room. 

Kira gestured to the other officers and they left, leaving Kira alone with the children. “We’ll be right outside should you need us” 

“There. I promise they wont hurt you anymore. I’m sorry for that,” she said quietly, in a tone she hoped was kind. She really had very little experience with kids as she tried to avoid the ones on the base out of fear of getting too attached. 

The little girl wiped her nose on her sleeve, “Linara” 

“Linara” Kira repeated, “and is this your brother?” nodding in the direction of the little boy. 

“Yes, that’s Murak”

“Hi Murak” she smiled. 

“Now, can you tell me what you were doing before you came here? Are your parents with you? 

Linara and Murak shared a quick glance at each other, uncertainly creasing their features. 

“Its alright. You wont get in trouble” Kira tried to comfort. 

“We’re orphans. They were taking us to a safe place where there’s other kids like us.” Linara explained. 

Stories of war orphans were not uncommon, on both sides of the war. Lots of children lost their parents or their entire families from this conflict. A glimmer of sadness came over Kira; how senseless it all was. Surely the Cardassians must feel some regret over the devastation being done to their own families. Well they felt something, because they always retaliated by killing more Bajorans. 

Kira took a closer look at the two of them. It was possible they were mixed – It was hard to tell with children, their Cardassian features not yet so striking at a young age. 

There was an increasing amount of Bajoran/Cardassian children being born, a result of such a prolonged occupation. There would be a whole group of people once the occupation was done that would have to deal with belonging to neither side. Their lives wouldn’t be easy, with Bajorans and Cardassians alike having severe prejudice against the other. These children would belong nowhere, distained by both. Pity filled Kira’s heart. She wished it would be different, but she wasn’t sure if even she would be able to set aside her anger to accept these children. Such a visual reminder of the horrendous things done to her planet and people. They were of course innocents, but that mattered little to what she felt. 

Kira sighed, “alright. Well we’re going to try to figure out what’s going on, but for now how about we get you some food. Are you hungry?”

They nodded, “come with me then” she said, beginning to walk out of the room. The children stood up and Kira felt a shock as Murak put his little hand in hers and held tightly. Her instinct was to recoil – the feel of his ridges against her hand a primal reminder of her mission. But she ignored it, pushing the feeling aside, feeling ashamed that she responded like that at all – and to a child. 

She had a lot of work to do. They all did.


	4. Reprieve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't very well end this with another depressing vignette, so here's a happyish one.

The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the camp, its aroma luring even the most reclusive of members out of their barracks and into the common room. They ate decently, with everyone taking a turn in the kitchens so the work was spread around. But everyone would be lying if they said they weren’t pleased when Denai joined their regiment; she was glorious in the kitchen.

It was remarkable how something so simple as food could uplift the spirits of people so dramatically. It was one of Kira’s favourite times of the week, when Denai cooked the ceremonial meal on the morning of the first day of the week; a homage to the prophets and a way to bring good luck for the coming days. It was a time when people came out and ate together, sitting in groups, sharing stories, sharing food. 

It was customary before this meal to pray to the prophets, and Kira often prayed to them thanks for sending them Denai. It was during these meal times that the shadow of what the Bajoran people were like could be seen; old, traditional recipes of their people being prepared – flavours that are unable to be nursed into fruition during a war by untrained cooks. 

Kira ate in silence this morning; dipping her soft bread into the soup. Her silence was often interpreted as melancholy by some, but frequently it was not. She was always so vocal, so expressive; silence to her was a moment of reprieve. She looked around at her friends, watching as smiles graced their faces – genuine moments of joy as someone told a joke or a story from their childhood. She’d gotten far too used to not seeing happy faces, it was disconcerting in a way to see it now. A brief flash of anger swept through her directed at herself and her comrades. Guilt that they had no right to be happy, no right to laugh while so many people suffered, the anger sweeping through her.

Her anger died as swiftly as it arrived, deflating her. She’d been surviving on anger for too long, she’d forgotten what they were really fighting for.

She looked at her bowl, the swirling colours transfixing her; a recipe handed down centuries ago from the prophets. Clearly it must be a sign. 

“Nerys!” a man’s voice called out, dragging her attention back to the present. 

“Come, join us! Stop being such a recluse over there” 

Kira smiled, a rare feature on her face these days, and got up to join her friends. 

It was moments like this that she realized there was happiness still within her people. A fresh new wave of hope surged through her that they would win and her people would be able to heal. 

She was happy. 

But it wouldn’t last. Mornings like this were rare and fleeting – it wouldn’t be long before reports came in of new casualties or new target, breaking the magic the meal brought, and the people she cared about would once again turn their attentions to the harsh realities around them. 

But for now, for these precious few minutes, she could rest.


End file.
